


Crystalline

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Harley Quinn (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Sex, Villains to Heroes, denied attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: Bruce finds Harley one achingly cold night, shows her his kindness after she's run away from Joker. A fragile bond threatens to grow into something more, something Bruce can't honestly say he didn't see coming.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyAylan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=LadyAylan).



> This is from the fic raffle I did at ConJikan.  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "Fuck You All The Time" by JEREMIH / Multiple songs by The Weeknd

The first time it had happened, Bruce had been certain he was being played. 

The night had been cold, even for Gotham, every breath leaving in a puff of steam, the chill permeating his suit in all the worst ways: sweat and cold and _damp_. His joints had ached and his mind had grown the slightest bit more sluggish than he liked to be on the streets with. He'd long-since sent Tim back home, provided the excuse that he needed something _more_ on a case that he needed to research and had made it sound gruff, irritable, everything that would get Tim moving without question. 

Two hours had passed since then and he was rapidly finding himself at an impasse. He needed to be out here on patrol and he equally needed a damn _break_. He needed warmth and something to make his insides stop trembling from the weather _alone_. 

The top vents of Gotham's finest bank blasted warmth into the air, the heaters inside cranked so high it was pushing heat up into the world around the structure. It wasn't very _green_ of them, but then again most things in Gotham weren't and Bruce settled with his back to the warm metal, rested his hands along one of the vents and let it start to work its magic on his weary body.

It was only then that the shadows moved a few feet from him, the person there still not showing themselves, but clearly knowing they should stay wrapped up in the darkness for the time being. Bruce's mind tumbled over the possibilities: over the homeless, the runaways, the variety of criminals and people just down on their luck on a night like tonight, and he _wondered_. He kept his eyes on the shadow, watched it move every once in a while, and finally the slip of a red boot out from the shadow, retracted in an instant as if it had been an accident. 

Bruce shifted, let his side take up residence against the warmth of the metal vent, his hand wander to his utility belt in the least menacing way he could muster. "It's warmer over here."

There was the scrape of boots and then a quiet voice he could never have mistaken for anyone other than who it was. "Mista J would find me over there."

The words, the way they were phrased and the _pain_ that laced between them gave Bruce pause, left his hand settled on his utility belt rather than engaging with _Harley_. His mind raked over a trap, over something to pull his sympathies and distract him and his senses extended to his entire surroundings, to take in the city around him, the air, even the vent itself, but it was only them. Something inside of him pressed the words out of his mouth even beyond his better judgement. "Night off?"

The sound of her moving on the rooftop and then she appeared at the very edge of the shadows. Her tights were ripped and there was a gash over her cheek, just below her eye, a bruise of sorts forming around the area. One side of her shirt hung limp off her shoulder and Bruce made note that she looked like she'd been through a hell of a fight. A few of her nails were broken on one hand and her hair was a mess. "There _are_ no nights off with Mista J." Words so saddened that it nearly took Bruce's breath away.

Her entire body shook as a shiver ripped through her, as she wrapped her arms around herself and took half a step closer, still keeping herself at the edge of the shadow she'd been within. "Don't wanna face him again righ' now." Her gaze flicked to the metal of the vent, longing clearly painted on her features.

Reaching back, Bruce unfastened his cape, released all the catches on it and stepped away from the vent, holding it out to her. Their hands brushed as she took it and in an instant, she was wrapped up in it, pressed tightly against the heater, her head even covered by a portion of the cape, hiding the red and black strands from the world. 

Bruce kept his distance, kept himself settled against the vent, alert and _waiting_ on this to be some absurd trap, trying to get the drop on him for his _kindness_. 

It never came.

It was quite a while later before Harley emerged from the confines of the cape and quietly held it out to Bruce, her face alight with something he could have only called _gratefulness_.

Their fingers brushed again as he took it back, swung it around and began to fasten the clasps again. Two steps brought her into his personal space and he'd _seen_ it on her face the instant she'd risen up on her toes, _knew_ what she was doing before it ever happened. An instant of her lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, the warm press of _contact_ and then she'd stepped away. "Guess I should go back now..." 

It had been hesitation, _dread_ , and Bruce had _almost_ stopped her. Would have had it not been for the nagging thought that he was being played. 

\---

The second time had been different on a number of levels. The second time Bruce began to think maybe this was _for real_.

Tim was off with the Teen Titans business, half a world away and Bruce had taken to the streets by himself, something that was second nature as much as it was _different_.

Maybe an hour into his patrol Harley had dropped down into an alleyway beside him after he'd taken down a particularly _disgusting_ brand of criminal. The guy lay knocked out on the pavement and Bruce was tying him up when he heard the pavement against her boots. He'd prepared for a fight in an instant, but she'd held up her hands instead, shaking her head. 

"Mista J ain't here, Batsy. Cross my heart." The click of the heels on her boots tapped toward him as she made her way closer. One white and black boot shoved at the side of the guy on the ground and she curled up her lip as she stared at him. "Shoulda' offed 'em."

"I don't do that." The words were gruff, irritable and Bruce knew he shouldn't have even been talking to her, much less engaging her in conversation. 

Harley dropped into a crouch, her short shorts riding up even further and Bruce averted his gaze from that portion of her body, watching her hands instead as she fished out the guy's wallet, opened it and fished around until she found whatever it was she was looking for. She held out a gold card to him before pushing the wallet back into the guy's pocket. "Could find 'em here. Him 'n all the other _scum_."

Her face twisted up in a disgusted grimace again. "Trafficking. Mista J lets it happen." Her eyes flicked up to his own, a plea written in them. "You save people, don't ya, Batsy?"

"I like to think so." This time his voice was softer, held less of an edge to it as he took the card from her fingertips, tucked it away in his belt pouch. 

"Wasn't no one ta save me." She stood, stepping over the guy and moving past Bruce, her fingertips trailing over his arm, her touch _burning_ even through the fabric of his suit. "Ain't no one gonna neither. Jus' me." And this time there was steel in her voice, a barely restrained anger written there.

Bruce turned to ask her what it was she wanted saving from and _she was gone_.

He'd taken down the ring, taken special care of each of the heads of the organization, had even ensured Bruce Wayne took care of the victims medical bills. 

The thought that maybe this wasn't some big ruse stuck with him, pulled at him and stuck itself right between his ribs, begging to be remembered. 

\----

The third time had been something else entirely. The third time had been proof he wasn't being played.

He'd been tracking Joker for weeks, his every movement logged, recorded, his end game being calculated with efficiency he wasn't quite sure he could have managed without the _anonymous_ tips Tim kept bringing in. People telling him things on the streets but not wanting to be named, too afraid to so much as show their faces when they were talking to him. Not one of them approached Bruce himself, only Robin.

The big night, they ripped out every single bomb they'd been told about, all of them carefully disposed of, disarmed and _useless_ after they were done with them. The final bomb was to be placed under the giant pumpkin sculpture that had been put up in the square, but as they approached, Bruce felt someone else join their little party, had hung back just enough to catch them.

The sleek black and red of Harley's suit caught him the instant before she dropped down next to him and put her hands behind her head. "Please believe me! Don' let Robin go! You have ta! Mista J is gonna kill 'em!" Her voice held so much pain, an anguish that gripped at Bruce hard enough that he just _believed_ instead of judging who he was talking to. 

Activating his comm, he gave his order, "Fall back, Robin. It's a trap."

"There's people in the square, B!" Tim's voice, panicked, and Bruce _knew_ he would sacrifice himself for others, knew he'd do what he had to do. 

"Fall back! Now!" Bruce was off at a run, Harley pacing him as they raced for the square. Bruce caught Robin around the middle just as he was about to swing down into the square, yanked him back and shoved him toward Harley. "Stay with her!"

The last thing he saw was Harley falling to her knees, hands behind her head as Tim advanced on her before Bruce was over the edge and swooping down into the square, yelling at people to get out, there was a bomb.

The seconds ticked away, the last few precious seconds yielding Bruce grabbing a small child and running for the outer edges of the square, a loud squeal of an alarm going off and then the heat of the explosion at his back, the ringing in his ears telling how _close_ he had been to not saving this girl.

It had taken days before Bruce had realized _why_ Harley had been so concerned about Robin's well-being, _days_ before he'd realized that in her own way she had been trying to make up for what Joker had done to _Jason_ , for all that had been ripped out of Bruce's life.

\---

The fourth time, Bruce had been expecting it. When she'd slipped out of the shadows and come to stand by his side, Bruce hadn't so much as flinched. It wasn't trust, but it was _something_ , undefinable as it was.

He'd given her a burner phone and she'd began to slip him tips that way, everything a million times safer than actually meeting with him and they'd built their own little code just in case the phone was found by Joker. If she used Batsy and included three very specific words somewhere in the text, it was her. If she didn't, it wasn't her and was to be ignored.

Again and again, Bruce foiled Joker until he finally got close enough to take him down. Almost an entire year of simply stopping his evil-doings and at long last he _had_ him. 

Joker lay out cold in the third floor of a newly renovated hotel, trussed up in a way Robin had once called _like a Thanksgiving turkey_ and Harley was knelt next to him, her hands behind her head and her gaze on the floor, silent for the first time in all of this.

Bruce sat back on his heels, waiting until she looked up at him, watched the sadness in her eyes as she shifted, holding out her arms to him. 

The phone he'd given her the contact number to almost seemed to burn a hole in his pocket as he gazed at her. She'd done nothing wrong this time, had done nothing he felt like he had to take her in for. He coiled up the length of rope and shook his head, pushing himself to stand up. "Go."

Her gaze flickered between Bruce and Joker until she shook her head, closing her eyes and holding out her arms again. "He'll _know_ , Batsy. I ain't gonna _live_ through that."

There it was, out in the open, exactly what Bruce had _suspected_ but hadn't been able to prove until now. Anger filled him and he sucked in a steadying breath, reaching out one hand to her. "We're leaving."

Her hand slipped into the grasp of his own and she shifted it up to her wrist, slipping close enough to whisper, "Yank me with ya."

Bruce tightened his grip just the slightest and started off, hitting his comm and making a call in for Joker's pickup. He took her to the security booth on the second floor and waited, watching the police come and collect Joker, moving to the roof to watch him being loaded up and tranquilized before they took off toward Arkham.

Nearly an hour found them at a safe house Bruce was willing to let go of if need be, found Harley sitting on the edge of the big plush couch, fear in her eyes, but determination right behind it. "He's gonna _know_."

"I took you for information." Bruce stepped out of the small kitchen area and held out a cup of coffee to her, settled a plate with toast and butter in front of her. "He won't hurt you here."

Bruce left her alone for a few minutes, took care of _nature_ before coming back to find all of the toast gone and most of the coffee as well. She had curled up on the couch, pulled one of the throw blankets over her and hidden herself in the depths of it. 

"You think ya can save me from 'im, but ya _wrong_." She rested her head on the back of the couch, closed her eyes as she spoke. "Mista J is..."

"Deplorable? A terrible human being?" Bruce sat himself on the chair across from the couch, leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. "We can find a way to keep you safe, Harley."

"It ain't all _him_. All we done." She shook her head ever so slowly against the couch. "I done it, too. I ain't no good either."

Bruce stood up then, came to kneel next to the couch, one hand on the edge of her boot, the other on the arm of the couch. "People change. _You've_ changed."

"Deep down inside we all ugly, Batsy. Even you. We all is. Ain't no escapin' it for some of us, s'all."

Reaching up, Bruce tipped her chin up and held two fingers under it, waiting until her eyes met his own. "Deep down inside we're all who we _want_ to be. You're strong. Resilient. Somewhere under everything he's made you feel, you found your truth. Don't lose it and you won't succumb to that ugliness."

She hadn't answered, hadn't done anything but close her eyes and curl up tighter in her blanket, and when Bruce left it had been because there wasn't any other choice. 

For weeks, he monitored her, watched her come and go from the little safe house, watched her dye her hair and buy makeup a different shade to cover herself with. He watched her dress _down_ for the first time in years and he watched her begin to _live_.

All the while Joker remained deep in his cell in Arkham, remained a threat that was to be monitored and examined and Bruce felt his anger towards him _change_. Joker had ruined so many lives, had taken _life_ from more than just Jason.

\---

Bruce began to allow her to know he was checking up on her, let her see him a rooftop away before he'd fade into the night. He left her things when she was out, gave her entertainment and things to keep her comfortable in her new life, but he also watched her grow restless, _lonely_ and he understood that this was a whole new world for her. She'd been under Joker's thumb for so long she wasn't quite aware of how to function completely on her own any longer.

Months dragged on until Bruce could stand it no longer, found himself in her living room waiting on her when she returned home one night. He could smell the hint of vanilla in her perfume before he could see her, heard the quiet tap of the modest heels she wore on the entryway tiles. 

Her purse dropped on the coffee table, the quiet sound of her laughter on the air as she came to a stop in front of him, hands pushed into the pockets of her tight blue jeans. "Come to visit lil ol' me, Batsy?" She didn't give him time to answer though, instead dropped to a crouch next to his chair, held onto the arm of it with both hands and peered up at him. "I been gettin' your gifts."

"You're lonely."

Her smile was her protection, but she wore it anyway, shook her head at him as she grinned up at him. "Aww. Come to make a girl feel betta?"

"You need friends, Harley."

"I got a friend." She was up in an instant, leaning closer to him, her mouth brushing close to where his ear was safely under the cowl. "Tell me, Batsy, is there a Missus Batsy out there?"

"Too risky." Even as the words left his lips, he realized he hadn't meant to tell her, hadn't meant to _open up_ like that, but it was getting so difficult to hold back when it came to her.

Her hand moved to rest on his shoulder as she swung her leg over his thighs and dropped down to sit right on his lap, both hands coming to trail over his chest, over the emblem. "Then... make me not lonely no more."

It would have been a lie if Bruce had told her he didn't want to, that he didn't have any reaction at all to her straddling him like this. His blood rushed south, arousal boiling up inside of him at a speed it hadn't in a long _long_ time, and maybe it was that alone that urged him to gently remove her from his lap. He wanted to tell himself it was because he knew her past, understood how cruel Joker had been to her. Wanted to lie to himself and say he stood up and moved away from her because he was a _good_ person, but the truth was, he was beginning to see what she'd meant when she said _everyone was ugly on the inside_.

"Make good choices, Harley. Find yourself some good, decent friends." He moved to the balcony, pulled the glass door open and stepped just outside, the sound of her voice stopping him. 

"Ain't you the best an' most decent of them all?"

Closing the door was one of the hardest things Bruce had ever done in his life.

\---

He didn't stay away for long, couldn't convince himself to leave Harley to her own devices for any longer than he already had. He brought her a few necessities, left them on the kitchen counter and when he found that she'd clearly gone out, he allowed himself to look around her living room.

She'd accumulated more than just the books and DVDs he'd left her with, had expanded beyond it. All of it was purely fiction, none of it even hedging on reality and - that - Bruce could understand. There was a desire to escape from what she'd called her own reality for so long that she'd pushed towards the other end. It wasn't bad, wasn't really _anything_ if he were honest. Some people just had to escape their past. After all, _he_ did just the same.

The key in the lock jerked him back out of his mind and he made himself obvious, within line of sight of the door and waited. 

She stepped in and Bruce didn't miss how she held her keys, how her every muscle was tensed and _ready_ for a fight. He watched her relax, watched her features soften and how she smiled at him and it was _genuine_. 

The door clicked shut behind her and she locked it with a motion almost quick enough that any normal person would have missed it. Habit, Bruce knew. Her heels were gold today, still lower than she used to wear, but one vibrant piece of her otherwise toned down outfit. Black leggings and a red and black plaid skirt, a matching flannel buttoned all the way up. 

Her purse clinked down onto the table and she began unbuttoning the flannel and Bruce - God help him - couldn't look away, couldn't convince his body or his _libido_ that it was the right and proper thing to do. 

She parted the material and let it slide off of her arms, revealing a black tank top underneath, the peek of a gold bra showing from under it. 

Relief - and maybe a little disappointment - flooded through him and he gestured back towards the bookcase. "Noticed the additions."

Harley climbed onto the couch, settling with her knees against the back, arms resting on the top of the back cushion as she peered at him and the bookshelf in turn. "Tell me somethin' Batsy."

His gaze flicked to hers and she held it solid as she spoke. "A girl can tell when she's wanted." One hand lifted, came to touch one curl of chestnut hair before she moved her hand away again, a habit she hadn't quite kicked. "Ya deny ya'self, but why?"

Heat surged through Bruce, the rush of it more than he'd felt in _years_. No matter the girls _Bruce Wayne: playboy_ had placed in his bed, it didn't satisfy a single thing inside of him as far as what he really wanted was concerned. It seemed almost inevitable that what Bruce wanted was _dangerous_. At one point it had been Selina Kyle, at another it had been Talia al Ghul, and now it was Harley. It was a pattern he wasn't willing to overlook with the solid number of three.

"There are things we must deny ourselves." There was little point in denying he wanted her, in denying how much of his _allowed_ frustrations had come to fruition because of her. Just as there was no denying that the girl his public persona had chosen to take home last week had reminded him of _her_.

Harley shifted, neatly placing her elbows on the back of the couch and interweaving her fingers, resting her chin on top of them as she regarded him. "I ain't meanin' ta pick at ya, not all psychology-like, but," she paused there, her eyes almost dreamy for a moment before she closed them and a wistful little smile played over her lips. "You's afraid. Afraid ya gonna be as bad as Mista J if ya want me."

Opening her eyes, she pushed herself up fully onto her knees and reached out, her fingertips barely brushing over his thigh, the action barely felt through his suit. "You ain't one a' the bad guys, Batsy. Ain't like Mista J. Ain't even like me." She stretched out to push lightly at his thigh before making a little come-hither motion at him. "We all got darkness, jus' some of us fight it betta' than others. But wantin' me?" She shook her head. "That ain't a fight you needa win, darlin'."

Bruce took one hesitant step toward her, wondered if she honestly believed the words she was speaking, if she sincerely believed he wasn't even remotely like them. 

Her fingertips caught his cape and he let her haul him in until she brought the fabric up to her cheek, resting against it and giving him the brightest of looks. "I know what you wanna hear before ya gonna give in." She let go of the cape and shifted back, reaching down and grasping the edge of her tank top, slowly hauling it up over her head and tossing it somewhere to the side. 

Her gold bra cupped her breasts perfectly, cradled milky white flesh within the demi cups and there was an instant in which Bruce could have sworn he was reacting more like how he suspected Tim might have in his position than how _he_ should have been. Her fingers worked behind her back and the straps were suddenly falling down her shoulders, the bra falling away and revealing her to his gaze. 

Dusky pink surrounded her nipples and everything about her was _perfection_ , to a degree that Bruce's toes nearly curled in his boots. As it was, his arousal surged so harshly, so _quickly_ that he was regretting the cup in his costume. 

She leaned forward then, hooking her finger onto his utility belt and hauling him toward her. His thighs hit the couch and his hand reflexively went to her hair, delved into it, gloves and all, and she stared up at him, a _hunger_ in her eyes that he was certain was reflected in his own. His hand trembled slightly as he ghosted it through her hair, brought it to caress her cheek, and drew it back the instant he got ahold of himself. 

His utility belt clunked to the floor and her hands began easing up the top half of his suit. "You gotta hear it, don' ya? Gotta hear that I _want_ ya."

Bruce froze then, his breath caught in his throat, just watching as she found the hidden zipper and eased it down, giving the pants enough room for her to tug them down so that they just barely brushed his upper thighs. Deft fingers removed his cup, eased his jock down and freed him to the air of the room. 

Her hand wrapped around him and the ghost of her breath rushed over his cock as she held it against her palm, leaned in so close she could have been taking him into her mouth, only _she wasn't_.

He reached for her hair again, let his fingers tangle in it, allowed himself the slightly amount of guidance toward what he wanted, and watched her face light up in response to it. Easing her forward, he sucked in a shuddering breath as her tongue lapped out over the head of his cock and then it was disappearing into her mouth and he couldn't have held back his moan if he'd _tried_. 

For the first time in years he was actually having someone he _wanted_ , that every single part of him wanted to engage with. She took him halfway in and he slowly began to rock his hips, watching as his length slipped in and out of her mouth, watched the light that danced in her eyes as she did. 

Her hand curled over his hip and he thrust in quicker, going deeper without the intention to do so until he was certain she was going to be the death of him. Tugging her head back, he pulled free of her lips and leaned down, meeting her in a sloppy kiss.

He gave her lower lip a gentle nip, pulling back from the kiss to give himself a second to think, to evaluate what he'd gotten himself into and how to proceed. But her hands were insistent, her fingers around his cock again, stroking with a deceiving amount of gentleness. 

"I gots a _secret_ for ya, Batsy." Her eyes glittered as she stared up at him, watching. Waiting.

He grunted, his hand releasing her hair as he moved to tug off his gloves. "That so?"

She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and nodded, curls bouncing around her shoulders. "Want you ta _fuck_ me."

Bruce _groaned_ , his mind supplying him with a hundred images, with the imagined _feel_ of going so far with her. He bent to pick up his utility belt, thumbed a rarely used pocket and extracted a little foil package before flipping it shut, tossing the belt onto the couch as he stepped around it. 

He heard something he would have identified as a purr leaving her lips as he ripped open the foil, extracting the condom and rolling it down over his cock, careful to pinch the tip and get it snug around the base. Nothing in him was sure why he was doing this, why he wasn't arguing or even trying to resist. He _wanted_ , wanted more than he had in a damn long time.

She wriggled around, tugging her own leggings down, revealing she hadn't been wearing underwear at all and he had to bite back his commentary on that particular fact. His hands came to hold her hips and he started to kneel behind her, hesitating as her hand came to clutch at one of his own. "Please, _please_. Been waitin' too long. I jus' want ya." Her voice held desperation, more than he would have thought should have tinged her voice.

Moving into place behind her, he tensed and lined himself up before moving forward to tease the head of his cock against her clit, brushing past it until she was shivering, panting as she clutched at the couch. He thrust there until her cries were being muffled into the fabric of the couch, her whines loud enough to bring out his own moan as he pulled back and pushed right into her heat.

His fingers flexed on her hips. " _Harley_." Every last ounce of control that remained evaporated the instant he felt her clench around him. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself penetration and he'd _missed_ it. His hands pulled her hips back toward him, got her ass perked up just the right amount and then he was _pounding_ into her, every single movement driven by the pure _need_ to cum. For the first time in years, he allowed it to be about what he wanted, what he needed, and he let his hand slide from her hip down over her short mound of curls and between her lips, fingers sliding along either side of her clit. His fingers rocked and his cock shoved up inside of her harder and harder, quicker and _quicker_ as his own desire mounted. 

Her cries echoed off the walls, her back arching up harder and her movements divided between pushing against his fingers and driving back onto his cock, and Bruce swore nothing could have been more beautiful than this.

She clenched down around him, her grip on his cock rock solid and he gasped, rocking against her until she released, everything inside of her spasming as she orgasmed, choking on something that could have grown into a scream, he was certain. His hands moved to her hips and hauled her up further, brought her back so he could slam into her with complete abandon, his suit slapping against her ass as he _rode_ her pussy, as he strained over her, everything in him focused on _cumming_.

Something like a groan left him as he yanked her back onto him, buried his cock deep inside of her, and _lost himself_. He pushed forward again and again, throbbing as he emptied his load, riding it out until he was certain it was going to become painful to keep moving inside of her. 

Leaning over her, he stilled, pressing his lips to her shoulder and closing his eyes, feeling the onset of post-orgasm _regret_ starting to settle in on him and wishing like hell it could at least _wait_.

Her hand covered his, fingertips dancing over his own and when she spoke, he could hear the wistfulness in her voice. "Sometimes we have ta forgive ourselves. Whateva it is that ya think ya did, that's eatin' ya up inside... forgive yaself, Batsy."

Bruce closed his eyes and _held on_ for just a while longer, let himself live in a world where he didn't have to walk away, where he wouldn't be risking Harley's life for something _more_ than this. For one moment, he let himself _think_ just what it would be like for there to be three of them in the night instead of two, to hear her laughter and know it was _real_ , and that was one thing he knew he'd hold onto forever. One crystalline image of the unattainable and the sound of her gentle voice letting him know it would all be _okay_.

What more could he have ever asked for?


End file.
